


The Waste That Was To Be

by dr_zook



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rope Bondage, cold withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeshua is out of the institution again, on cold withdrawal. It's not necessarily fun for him and his flatmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Waste That Was To Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liriaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liriaen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Institution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/373336) by [dr_zook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_zook/pseuds/dr_zook). 



> I wrote this as well years ago. It's the sequel to [Institution](http://archiveofourown.org/works/373336).

He feels like shaken roughly. As if his uncontrollable limbs were forced to move. He has to hold on to the dresser beside him. Steady his stand. The edges of his sight are frayed.  
  
The figure in front of him is crouched on a stool, bent over. Tying their shoes, from the look of it. A slither of pale flesh is revealed between slacks and rucked-up shirt. And there is _something_ hovering over their back. A diffuse blur of matter, fluttering maybe. He tries to focus, and it's gone.    
  
"It's worse than before," he mumbles silently, and shakes his head.  
  
"What?" Lucifer asks over his shoulder. His gaze is oscillating between annoyed and solicitous.  
  
Jeshua has never seen him like this before.  
  
The amber gaze eventually focuses on the craftsman's hand. It's twitching. Their eyes lock with each other again.  
  
_Uh-oh. That doesn't look very well._  
  
Jeshua's chest heaves; he feels a sob welling up. Pressing thumb and index finger against his eyeballs he concentrates on breathing evenly.  
  
"Helping others, who didn't ask for it: works never out, believe me," Lucifer shrugs. "Schizophrenia, they said? Was it Haldol?"  
  
Jeshua cannot answer. His tongue feels thick and heavy. Swollen.

A fierce grip at around his upper arm. This time it's real. "Come on, rabbi. Let's have this damn walk."  
  
And he is shoved outside where the glaring sun stings, and makes his skin hurt.

  
##

  
He can't remember exactly when it was the last time he was woken by his own, blood-curdling wail. It's nothing new, but he thought those times were gone.  
  
"Fuck-ing hell." The angel's eyes are wide open, Jeshua can see his pulse run, run, run beneath the mealy membrane of the body. Bustling through veins and flesh. "Warn a guy, could you?"  
  
No, he couldn't. He is still scared, and refuses to remember the last pictures his brain provided his dreams with.  
  
Lucifer slowly relaxes again against the pillows, eyeing him warily. "It's over. Go back to sleep."  
  
Jeshua feels the panic surge again. _No. Not Sleep_. "It's his brother, they say."  
  
Lucifer's eyebrow twitches. He reclines as far as necessary to retrieve the shirt he shed on the floor before going to bed, and dabs Jeshua's brow with it. The tang of Lucifer's sweat and tobacco smoke still cling to the cloth, and invade Jeshua's synapses--  
  
Somehow he's yet quick-witted enough to press the shirt long enough against his mouth, until he reaches the bathroom. There he vomits the rest of their dinner into the toilet bowl.  
  
"This was my favourite button-down," Lucifer says close to his ear, gathering Jeshua's stringy and greasy hair at the back of his trembling neck.  
  
"Sorry," he manages to croak between gut-churning dry heaves and clings to the porcelain.

  
##

  
Lucifer moves around him with greatest caution. The ashtray which had connected with his knee yesterday still makes him hobble through the flat. Jeshua was too aggravated to aim properly.  
  
"Don't," Jeshua says, and shoves away the plate.  
  
" _Don't_ what?" Lucifer tentatively looks up from his obscenely huge chunk of chocolate cake. And yet here is barely withheld impatience oozing from those few syllables.  
  
"Don't make me eat."  
  
Lucifer rolls his eyes, sighing. "Fuck you. I'll eat your share myself. And don't complain about swooning again, when I tie you down later." He drains his fifth glass of Nero d'Avola.  
  
Jeshua has to chuckle.  
  
Lucifer tilts his head disbelievingly. "Hey, that was no joke!"


End file.
